


Damian centred writings

by Flyingbirdietimmy



Category: Batman - Fandom, batman and son
Genre: Blue - Freeform, M/M, Special Occasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyingbirdietimmy/pseuds/Flyingbirdietimmy
Summary: Little one shots based on prompts about Damian





	1. Something Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I rp as Damian Wayne and am part of an rp group called Inspire on Instagram! (I'm batbrxt) and currently I'm working on a writing assignment and so I wanted a place to stick them!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little poem about something blue

яσℓℓιиg ωανєѕ ωʝтн ωнιтє ¢αρρє∂ тιρѕ  
ѕкιєѕ тнαт gσ σи ωιтнσυт єи∂  
тяυє вℓυє  
уєт иσт ℓιкє мιиє  
gяєу ωнєи ѕєт αgαιиѕт му αzυяє

ι ѕєє ιт fℓαѕн  
вяιgнт αgαιиѕт тнє євσиу  
σf мιи∂'ѕ єує  
ιℓℓυмιиαтιиg тнє ∂αякиєѕѕ  
ʝυѕт ℓιкє уσυ

ωнєи ∂ємσиѕ нєℓ∂ ¢αρтινє  
му ωєαяу ѕσυℓ  
ιи ∂ιѕ¢σиѕσℓαтє αвуѕѕ  
ωнєяє яємιиιѕѕ¢єи¢є σf ℓιgнт  
нαѕ ℓσиg ѕιи¢є fα∂є∂

тнє fℓυттєя σf вℓυє  
¢αяяιє∂ σи αиgєℓѕ ωιиgѕ  
fσυи∂ α ρєя¢н  
σи αи ι¢у нєαят

му вℓυє ιѕ уσυ  
иιgнтωιиg ~~~


	2. Something Blue

"No! No! No! And NO!!" His 10 year old legs were too short to outrun the seasoned vigilante in blue, and so he yelled as two strong arms pulled him back to the hell that had formerly been his room. He bit and clawed, squirming this way and that in an efforts to free himself. But the acrobat was just as easily able to trap someone as he could escape, and he squeezed Damian painfully until the boy gave up his struggle for freedom. "I can't believe this!" Damian grumbled. 

Dick chuckled, holding Damian in a chair by his shoulders. "It's not that bad. And besides, I've had to attend way more of these than you. Especially since you skip most of them."

Damian growled at his reflection in the large mirror he faced. "Why can't he have a birthday like a normal person? Why does he need to throw a big party? This is ridiculous! I have no desire to partake in this banal event where I'll be expected to engage in loquacious conversations started by repugnant and disingenuous spoiled rich people!"

"Be that as it may, you're going. All I ask is you make an appearance, hang around for a little bit and then you are free to take out your distaste in training or something."

"Tt." Damian crossed his arms, glaring back at himself. "I do my training in the morning."

Dick paused his fussing with Damian's hair for a moment. "The unholy hour you wake up at is not morning."

"I don't think you have any real perception of time. A.m. is morning whether the sun is up or not."

 

Dick rolled his eyes, mumbling something Damian couldn't hear. Damian whipped around in his chair, fixing Dick with a challenging glare. “What did you say, Grayson?”

Dick laughed “Nothing!” The older male dropped a folded tux into Damian’s lap, which Damian watched with disdain. “Put it on. And if you try to run just remember I have Jason waiting outside and Tim running security. You won't get far.”

Damian snorted, turning around again with a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “They don't scare me.”

“You might change your mind if I make them get you in that tuxedo. Just make this easy for all of us. I'm not asking for much, Dami.”

Damian grumbled softly. “Fine. Get out then!” He watched Dick’s reflection as the acrobat swiftly left the room, then began the arduous task of figuring out the suit, mostly the tie. Dick had to assist him. 

Dick stepped back to admire their handiwork. “You look quite spiffy, Damian.”

Damian wrinkled his nose. “I'd appreciate you never using that word to describe me again.” 

Dick chuckled and gave him a playful swat. “Too bad. Now I need to get ready. I'm a little ahead of schedule. I thought this would take longer, so you can find something to do, but don't mess up your appearance.”

“I make no promises.” The smirk returned in full force and elicited a huff of annoyance from the acrobat before they parted ways. Damian spent the remainder of his time brooding as he watched Alfred the cat tango, and meet his match with a long strand of azure yarn, the last remnant of the ball of yarn that had gone through many playtimes already. A knock on the door revealed Butler Alfred who announced it was time to go down. 

Damian was in no hurry to grace the attendees with his presence. He moved slowly, begrudgingly forcing himself off the bed and to the door. In the hall he was stopped by the intense blue eyes of his father, and a hand on his shoulder. He seemed to want to say something, his jaw working open and closed as his mind failed to provide the words to express himself. Damian regarded him with mild curiosity. “What would you like, father?”

The man sighed heavily and looked away. “Never mind.”

Damian studied him for a moment, then took them both by surprise by engulfing his father in a great hug. This man… he wasn't perfect by any means. Often Damian felt he didn't care, and that Bruce saw him as a burden. But maybe that was what it took to bring Damian off his high horse. He needed proper direction, and though their relationship was rocky, Damian didn't regret his choices, and he didn't regret coming to live with his father. There were many valuable lessons that had been had, and were to be had. “Happy Birthday, father..”

He felt the strong arms of the iron willed man secure around him in a return of the hug. “Thank you, Damian. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Maybe.. just maybe this party wouldn't be so bad. Actually it was guaranteed to be terrible but he could survive if it meant making his father happy.


	3. Greatest Fear

It is essential that the information I'm about to impart stays discrete, not only for the sake of my own sanity, but to allow this information out would endanger your own life as well. ~ R ~

In extravagant shades of greens layered like a majestic, and aged forest, he towered over me, hands clasped behind his back. "Damian. I assume you know why I called you here today?" Breathe. Breathe. I lifted my chin, looking up as he addressed me. "Yes. The events of yesterday.. I apologize." "No Damian. I don't want your apologies. I want to commend you. You are an Al Ghul, and as such, you should never let anyone teach you otherwise. The assassin you attacked is recovering in his room, but I want you to finish him off. No one will disrespect the Demon's Heir." His voice had grown in volume, chilly like an Arctic breeze.   
I had always found my grandfather to be a terrifying man. In his presence I felt antsy, though I knew better than to let on. It was obvious he held me in high regard as well, though he didn't care much for my lineage aside from Talia being my mother. Having known him as long as I did, I could always see the spark of pride in those cold, calculating jade eyes. And I was determined to prove I was worthy of it. "Yes, grandfather. I will do as you say." The man hadn't even looked surprised when I entered his room. He didn't make a sound when I brought out the carefully polished silver blade with the ornate hilt. This man had calmly accepted his fate. It was unnerving. I wanted a fight. I wanted him to beg! To kill an injured man in his own bed is the most unnerving thing I ever had to do. Even after the crimson poured forth from his throat, and his eyes grew glassy, I knew to impress my grandfather I would have to take things a step further.   
My sword easily sliced through the thin fabric of his uniform. I tugged it back to expose the man's chest. My blade hovered over his finely toned muscles. I shouldn't do this. It felt so wrong to mark someone like this. But he wronged me first. Carefully I carved my name into the soft flesh. A warning for anyone who dared speak out against me. I needed to prove myself. I needed to be valuable and live up to the name I had been born with, no matter the horrible things I had to do to get there. ~~~ After coming to Gotham, I changed. I made friends and relationships, and found myself learning a whole new set of rules. And yet... "Damian, I do this for your own good. You will be strong. You won't fall prey to the seductions of love, for it is a weakness. Look at how weak your mother has become. She allowed herself to be twisted by the petty charms of your father." The vivid imagery that accompanies those words often returns in the dead of night. My grandfather will do anything. He will take what I love and destroy it if it serves some sort of purpose to him. And sometimes he will do it simply for the pleasure of watching people break.   
Do I fear my grandfather? Not nearly as much as I used to. My greatest fear is losing the ones I love. And my grandfather was wrong. They don't make me weak. They empower me by giving me a real reason to fight.


	4. Action Shot

Fwishing! The knife blazed past his ear, embedding itself in the rough wooden beam of the dilapidated building outside the city limits. Damian folded his arms across his chest as the knife's owner fumbled around in his oversized pants in an effort to find another weapon. "Perhaps you misunderstood me the first time?" Damian inquired, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. 

"Nah man! I heard ya loud 'n clear! You won't get nothin' from me!" The trying teen concluded his statement by spitting in Damian's direction. 

"Tt. Two Bit, I thought we reached an agreement upon our previous meeting. Just tell me where I can find your superior and I will help you free yourself from this pathetic life." His boot fell with a heavy thump as he stepped toward the street kid. 

"I can't turn my back on my fam, yo! Last time I was havin' a rough day, but Scrapper straightened me out and now I'm golden. You betta get the hell out 'fore I call my boys on you!" He stood comically tall with his hands out to the sides as if trying to make himself appear bigger. It might have been intimidating if he were mugging an unarmed civilian rather than confront a seasoned vigilante. 

"Last chance." Damian warned. 

"Naw, this is your last chance, boi!" Two Bit swung his arms up in outraged indignation. 

Damian surged forward, his hand closing around Two's neck, constructing his windpipe. "You don't have to want my help, but you will give me what I need or you'll never speak again. I'm through asking nicely and I don't play games."

Two let out a strangled grunt, thrusting his hand into his oversized pocket. Young men and women, hardened by their years in the street and covered in an assortment of tattoos and piercings burst forth from every loose brick. There were more than Damian had anticipated, but not so many that he couldn't handle a few ill equipped street rats. He drew Two back and slammed his head against the nearest wall, hard enough to loose a cloud of dust in addition to rendering Two Bit unconscious. 

The second his arm had moved the crowd of gangsters shot forward, brandishing their brass knuckles, chains, crowbars, or anything else they had managed to get their hands on. A few held guns but it was painfully obvious they had no idea how to effectively wield them. Damian had them all disarmed with a handful of wing dings. 

There was so much to keep track of that it was no surprise that a handful managed to get a few blows in, though Damian had been struck by much stronger opponents many times. He wove his way through the frenzy of arms and legs, choosing his punches carefully so each one took one more kid out of the fight. When he managed to break free from the chaos he slipped a mask over his mouth and nose as he tossed a weak knockout bomb into the fray. Seconds later the gang members began to stagger, toppling over one by one as they fought the effects of the gas. 

Damian plucked the phone off of a particularly young boy. It was fortunate that he had chose today to bring the little hacking bug Gordon had provided him with. In a matter of seconds he had sent a copy of the contacts and messages to the Batfamily's ever watching eye. "Always the hard way with you people." Damian remarked as he replaced the phone. "Tt. Amateurs."

And with that he turned to the young night, ready to move on to bigger and better things.


	5. Sweet Treat

"Ow!! Stop! Go away!!" He pulled his injured arm against his chest, hunched over like a wolf and snapping at anyone who dared come close in much the same manner. 

"Master Damian!" Alfred huffed, setting down the ice pack as close to Damian as he dared. "You must allow us to tend to your arm or you'll be prohibited from patrol for much longer than a week."

Damian shot him a scalding glare before he begrudgingly held his arm out. The elderly man carefully pulled off his glove, earning a hiss from the child, but he didn't flinch away. "I don't see why I've been banned from patrol. It's a sprain! I've fought with worse before, and besides that, I could make do with one arm!"

"Maybe so, Master Damian, but we don't want it to get worse." 

Damian grumbled, allowing Alfred to secure his arm in a sling despite his discontentment. Dick, who had taken cover during Damian's throw-everything-in-sight temper tantrum, finally poked his head up, feeling relatively safe now that Alfred appeared to have calmed the boy. "Being on the sidelines is no fun, but I have an idea, Dami. Let's go out. You and me! I know what will make you feel better."

Damian stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment before he finally nodded. "Very well. What did you have in mind, Grayson?"

"That's a surprise." His azure eyes twinkled with mischief as he gently pulled Damian along using his good arm. 

He guided Damian outside where the sun was high in the sky and the stifling heat of summer had them sweating practically the moment they stepped outside. They found a spot in the shade of a thicket of trees where the grass of cool and little bugs pestered them. 

A few minutes after they had settled down there came to be a rustling in the trees above, and Red Hood dropped down from a branch, carrying a small cooler. "You owe me, Grayson." He spoke, voice distorted by the mask. 

Dick picked up the cooler, then rolled his eyes. "It's not even that heavy, and I'm sure you plan to help us eat this."

Jason pulled off his helmet, dropping it into the grass revealing his grin. "That's true. But I still had to carry it across the city."

Damian leaned forward, unable to conceal his curiosity any longer. "What exactly is it?"

"It's called ice cream." Dick said matter of factly. "And it's about time you tried it."

"Might make him less sour." Jason chimed in. 

"Nobody asked you, Todd!" Damian snapped. 

Jason gave him a cheeky smile. "I know. I thought I would privilege you anyways."

Damian was about to respond when Dick opened the cooler, pulling out a container of ice cream and a box of waffle cones. He dished three up with generous helpings of the dairy goodness and handed them out to his companions. 

Damian watched the other two for a moment, then gave his a tentative lick, pleasantly surprised by the cool burst of flavourful goodness. "Oh..."

Dick grinned and Jason smirked. "I think the brat likes it."

Damian turned away from him, ignoring the comment in favour of enjoying his delicious treat. "Thank you, Grayson."

"You're welcome."


	6. Oops I Did it Again

Damian leaned back against the chair which he was now certain had been selected solely to make the user uncomfortable as he listened to his father drone on about his latest escapades. He found himself having to snicker wen his father reached the part about leaving a man suspended by his impaled wrists until he learned that as a result of his actions the man had been allowed to go free, as a forced confession did not hold up in a court of law. "He should have been killed anyways." Damian remarked. "I am aware you don't want to take that part of the law into your hands because it crosses lines, but Todd has a point. You don't scare everyone, and the ones who aren't scarred will live on to destroy the lives of more innocents."

Damian was still trying to come to terms with the 'no killing' rule. As a (former?) assassin, killing had been encouraged. He had no qualms about it, and despite his best efforts to please his father, he still slipped up. On the other hand, it felt like banging his head against a wall to please his father at all. Perhaps it could be attributed to he near impossibility of trying to read the man, but that offered the boy no reassurance. Both, his mother and grandfather had affirmed exactly how they felt about Damian as he grew. Whoever he showed promise of fulfilling his role as future leader of the League, they were elated. His choice had caused anger and strong feelings of betrayal that were sure to resurface. Damian had turned his back on everything he knew, and now it felt like he had nothing. The veneer of arrogance concealed his true thoughts and the hurt he tried to hard to shove away. 

The meeting concluded with Damian mouthing off his father and getting sent to his room without supper, as well as the other punishments for his negligence in duty. He had been stripped of the Robin title until he could prove he was worthy of such an honour. When he was alone in his room he seethed at the punishment. He took out his misery in the pillow which subsequently turned into a storm of feathers. As the feathers settled, so did Damian, save for the racing thoughts that plotted ways to earn back his uniform. 

Over the course of a few weeks, Damian really stepped up his game. He helped Pennyworth whenever and wherever he could. He did his best to show respect to his father and everyone else including Drake on the night he as come over for dinner. That was certainly a feat given his predecessor's constant comments that nearly provoked Damian into a fight right there on the table. (Yes Damian could behave, thank you very much! He was not an alien, zombie, clone, or anything of those likenesses!) In the end his diligence paid off, (or Alfred got sick of being spoiled by the random appearance of a Damian asking to help) and he returned to his role of Robin. 

One particularly chilly night of patrol, Damian parted ways with the Dark Knight, as he was sent to patrol a typically quieter part of the city. It hadn't seemed like any other night. Cars lazily wandered the auburn illuminated streets, leaving the majority of the city cast in showdowns that housed all sorts of infestation. It was easy pickings though. Mostly the criminals that saw him dropped everything and ran. After all, he was the Robin with a reputation for bloodlust, but there was one criminal that threw him off his game. 

Robbie Prines was an escaped convict with a reputation for preying upon young boys. From the moment Damian laid eyes on him, Damian felt he was being rubbed the wrong way. For starters, the man wore an easy smile, everything about his demeanour screamed he was proud of all he had achieved. His perverse tattoos curled around his biceps, easily visible with the muscle shirt he donned. The tips of his spiked back hair were frosted with white and hints of black, like salt and pepper. That part stuck him as Ra's Al Ghul. And his face was plastered all over the local news and flyers passed out to anyone who would listen. But this man roamed the streets without a care in the world. This one needed to be delivered straight to the cops, or one of the man's accomplices would likely free him the moment Damian left. 

Damian dropped in front of the man, wearing the 'I am the night' in every little movement. He was met with complete indifference. "You are going to prison, Prines."

"Not likely, kid." The man cocked a hip to the side, oozing with confidence. "But I do believe you are comin' with me."

Damian had to actively stop himself from reeling with disgust. He recited a mantra in his head about facing worse as he lowered himself into a fighting stance. 

Robbie just pushed his hands into his pockets, daring Damian to act. "Batboy, or whatever your name is, I should warn you, I have three snipers trained on you and they already disposed of some annoying coppers today."

Of course! How could he have been so foolish? Damian begrudgingly dropped his fists. His protection offered by the suit held weaknesses, and through it was possible Robbie was bluffing, he couldn't afford to take that chance. Not when the man was still too far away. He needed a better opportunity to strike. 

Robbie strolled closer, lifting Damian's chin as he inspected him. Damian bit his tongue to keep from growling. "You are quite a fine specimen, and I bet I could catch a pretty price if I gave you to the right person. Or maybe.." his hands moved up, tugging at the corners of his mask. Damian felt every muscle lock. He struck without warning, planting his knee in the criminal's groin. From there it took seconds for Damian to take him down. A bullet pinged off his cape, and Damian was forced to roll behind a pair of trashcans for cover, taking Robbie with him. 

"You perverse Bastard!" Damian snarled, hand finding a hold on Robbie's threat. "How many?"

Robbie grinned broadly, everything feeling so much like a Joker encounter. "Hundreds."

His vision went red, and Damian roared. A moment later his green glove had turned crimson. Damian stared at it, transfixed by the morbid sight, and only freed from his trance by the swish-this that characteristically belonged to one man. 

Damian looked up, slowly moving his trembling hand behind his back. He stood, his head lowering with (shame?) "I'm sorry, father... I did it again."


	7. Friends are Forever

How does one define friendship? Alas! I have floundered with such an inquisition since my arrival in this wretched city. This is my first attempt at articulating these bewildering observations and speculations. My father and Grayson both seem to have functional friendships, but they diverge past that point. How can things so different still be the same? Do the differences lie in an individual? At what point does an acquaintance transcend to the level of friendship?

Many of the people who frequent my father's parties are superficial, or as my agrestic peers might say, 'Facebook friends'. They converse in statements of balderdash concealed by masked or brevity all for the sake of augmenting their own reputations. It's repulsive. Father doesn't seem to be the sort who seeks out true friendship, but it finds him anyway, albeit in small quantities. When he first met Superman, they were alike as day and night I'm told, and bickered accordingly. Their relationship evolved into understanding which in turn resulted in respect and perhaps trust to some extent. 

Grayson has a plethora of friends. He acquires them from working on the same team, or being forced into situations where trust is required. There are some that blossom into something more but that's a whole other baffling element. Grayson is much more open and trusting than father, which could explain why he appears to have so many more friends with perhaps stronger bonds. Harper, West, and Gordon are all names that come to mind when it comes to strong friendships. There are rough patches to be certain, but the end result is something to strive for, if only one could figure out how to go about that. 

In my own life there are a few potential candidates of which I might be able to consider friends. The most undeniable would be Grayson, and if he isn't then it's impossible to have real friends. Grayson gave me a chance. He made the effort to understand me. He could have done as father did and ignored me, instead he reached out when I was isolated and lost. He became a sanctuary where I could confide things I never thought I'd be able to tell anyone. I trust him wholeheartedly, though we still do not always agree. I do heed his council. 

Melissa is not only a sister, but a friend. Our apparent bonding over animals has given me an affection of sorts towards her. Her blood relation to father should make me jealous as Drake's favour, but it doesn't. She is sweet like honey and I find it impossible to harbour any sort of ill thoughts towards her. More often than not I feel an urge to protect her, though I know she is quite capable of defending herself. 

I'm not sure what Kent is to me yet. He may be a friend, but we do fight frequently. He feels more like a rival. We go on adventures together that our parents do not approve of, and I do feel a sense of duty to protect him, but his teasing particularly about my short stature is infuriating! The danger we've gotten ourselves into has given us time to bond... and I forbear anyone ever read this because perhaps he is my friend, not that anyone could ever make me admit it!

Lastly... the people who claim to be my friends... my team, the Teen Titans. Perhaps I don't know them as individuals as well as I should yet. I find myself frustrated when they neglect to learn my tactics, but they were there for me when I was in danger. And I sacrificed myself to save them from danger. As much as it pains me to admit, I'm not strong enough on my own, which was the purpose of uniting us. 

I'm still uncertain where I stand in my relationships, but I have a sort of grasp of who my friends are. Bonds grow stronger when forced to work together, or with people who share common interests, and those who make the effort to understand you. Even I suppose, spending time together strengthens bonds. There is something satisfying about having people to stand with you! And now it would be wise to burn these words because if anyone ever found them I would likely die of horror.


	8. Biggest Rival

I've had two rivals in my life significant enough to note. One prior to when I met my father, the other after. My rivals have always been a significant part of my life. They drive me to do better, but to truly understand their impact on me you must understand my history and culture. 

Some of my most vivid recollections involve ventures into nearby towns. Most females wore head coverings, and he ones who didn't were too young for them. They were married young, and arranged marriages were commonplace, because the focus was family and honour. If someone in the family is disgraced, everyone is, and it impacts their standing in the community greatly. In addition, most people are referred to by last name, a habit I carried with me even after leaving. Firstborn children, especially sons are highly regarded as it is their duty to insure the honour of the family lives on. Their inheritance is greater than those of their brothers. I spent most of my life without knowing who my father was, but that didn't stop me from fathoming the possibilities and imaging a future where I came home to collect my inheritance. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it all had been given to one who didn't even share my father's blood. But now I've gotten ahead of myself. 

My first rival, and the biggest in that period of my life, was my cousin Mara. I never set out to make this so, but it happened that way because we were set against each other time and time again. Our grandfather wanted his heir to be worthy, thus Mara loathed me with every cell of her being. I was the more intelligent, the faster, the stronger, and I had no qualms about telling her exactly that. My grandfather of course loved it. My potential was great! I could best my mother in a fair duel at ten. All my training had paid off. My childhood was sacrificed for the good of my family and bloodline. It didn't matter that I was a bastard child. I brought great honour with each subsequent accomplishment. 

Everything changed when I chose my father's path. I betrayed the only family I had known for years, and I was in for a huge culture shock. Most children were juvenile even past the recognized legal age. Maturity seemed like a far fetched concept except in those who had suffered some sort of loss. I was dubious that they would have been capable of surviving all I had endured, but I've been wrong about things before... particularly my rival, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. I had finally met my father, which was greatly disappointing, and then I discovered he already had a son. Three in fact, but it was the youngest who had been gifted everything. I was angry, and I immediately lashed out at him- this imposter who dared claim MY birthright! I directed every once of hatred towards him for simply existing... it's taken me awhile to come to terms everything, and even now I would still consider Drake my biggest rival, but in addition he is my brother. His intellect surpasses my own and perhaps this makes him a better fighter, but I'll never believe I'm the inferior when it comes to skill. (I refuse to believe I had a head start in training only to meet my match by Drake) I harbour a deep respect and regard for Drake that I am reticent to admit, as he is still, and will always be, my biggest rival. (Stop playing dead!!)

**Author's Note:**

> I did some headcannons for Damian based on my perception of him! Feel free so mention more or just take these with a grain of salt. No one but the creators of Damian truly know his character, but its fun to try and figure him out!
> 
> 1\. Damian uses big words as a cover for his insecurities. It makes him feel superior.  
> 2\. The comics thus far from my awareness have not explored the extent of Damian's training, so beneath his façade he is a little broken and traumatized, though he can hide it well.
> 
> 3\. Damian desperately wants to win his father's respect, and when he messes up it is very frustrating because he really just wants to be loved.  
> 4\. Because of 3. he ends up bonding with Dick, who is the first to understand and accept him.  
> 5\. Damian grew up where he had to be the best, and beat out his rivals, which is one reason he hates Tim.  
> 6\. As Damian gets older he learns to accept Tim and even respect him.  
> 7\. Damian respects Jason and even admires him, but finds a lot of enjoyment in pissing him off.  
> 8\. Damian will listen to Alfred, no questions asked.  
> 9\. As he matures he becomes less arrogant upon initial meetings.  
> 10\. Damian loves all animals, and may possibly try to save the animals before the people.  
> 11\. Damian wakes up really early to start training every day.  
> 12\. Damian is very smart, but he tends to act rashly as he gets easily angered.  
> 13\. He can be quite a gentleman when he wants to be.  
> 14\. He has a very beautiful singing voice, but will sing only when he thinks he is alone.  
> 15\. Even when he is fully grown he is a master of stealth.  
> 16\. Damian is a very talented artist, his favorite medium being charcoal.  
> 17\. He has green eyes  
> 18\. His first language is Arabic, but he is very proficient in 8 others, and can communicate basically in a myriad of additional ones.  
> 19\. In his spare time he prefers to train.  
> 20\. He doesn't usually read for fun.  
> 21\. When young, he is very sensitive about his height.  
> 22\. He is a vegetarian.  
> 23\. When he loves something, he is very protective over it/them.  
> 24\. He gets jealous easily.


End file.
